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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28662102">Blood On My Lips</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Introvertedfangirl/pseuds/Introvertedfangirl'>Introvertedfangirl</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Crying Jaskier | Dandelion, Cursed Jaskier | Dandelion, Djinn Jaskier | Dandelion, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Injured Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Lots of Hurt, M/M, Pre-Slash, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, T for curses, but lots of comfort ;), liberties were taken with the tv episode whoops, the djinn episode</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 04:13:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,708</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28662102</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Introvertedfangirl/pseuds/Introvertedfangirl</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Excerpt:<br/>Geralt is still wiping away the remnants of blood on his lips. Jaskier opens his mouth again. Whether or not he is going to tell Geralt to leave again or to go find the mage or whether some other sentence is about to fly out of his mouth, are all thoughts dismissed by the gentled yet rough insistent press of a finger to his lips. </p><p>“Do not speak bard.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia &amp; Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>216</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Blood On My Lips</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Umm so here's this angsty piece of hurt/comfort If you're looking for soft caring Geralt and injured in pain jaskier this is the right place. I- idek where this came from I was like hmm might as well right something  painful. I neverrr write angst. Maybe it's because school starts monday and I dread it.  if there's any errors sorry i promised i proof read it but watch there be some glaring mistake loll.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sitting on the bed, Jaskier is not sure that he won’t simply fall straight over and onto the hard wood floor. The curse that the djinn has placed on him has clouded his mind from any real coherent thoughts. Somewhere in the back of his mind he remembers someone lowering him on to this strange bed in this strange— wait not strange.</p><p> </p><p> Yes it had been Geralt who had taken him to…? Oh yes, something about a mage and healing. Gods he wishes Geralt might hurry up about <em>that </em>business. Because the more he sits, the worse the pain is getting. Breaking through the hazy cloud of his mind is a high-pitch whimper, one he doesn’t realize is his own, until strong fingers press against his mouth. He stops, if only because of the shock he has received at not having realized someone else is in the room. His heart beats dully in his chest against a seemingly iron gripped doublet. Almost immediately though, his anxiety is put at ease at the low timbre floating down to his ears.</p><p> </p><p>“Settle bard, it is only me”</p><p> </p><p>About to make a witty reply along the lines of</p><p> </p><p>You’re one to talk about settling, I’m the one cursed, Jaskier pauses as he feels a cough battling within him, and his shoulders shake with the effort to hold it in.</p><p> </p><p>Looking up through watery eyes, the young man is in shock to see that Geralt’s often embittered expression is absent. If the bard didn’t know any better ( but he does right?) he’d call it one of  concern. In fact, Geralt has now sat on the bed close to him. Though he is no longer touching Jaskier, this movement altogether is more intimate and friendly than anything the witcher has ever done. Now in a quiet gravelly voice he speaks.</p><p> </p><p>“I believe that this mage can heal you.” Sighing, he adds in more words than Jaskier believes he has ever heard him say, “but she cannot do anything about the pain, I’m afraid, that will have to wait until after she has reversed the djinn’s magic.” Geralt’s eyes search the bard’s face here almost as if he expects Jaskier understandably to  bemoan this fate. Instead Jaskier’s whole body tenses, though it is subtle the bard knows Geralt has seen it. Gritting his teeth, he refuses to let out any more sounds of pain.</p><p> </p><p>Fuck, he knows it wouldn’t be him being weak. Cause fuck’s sake, he is in <em>excruciating</em> pain, but he cannot bear to show that to Geralt.</p><p> </p><p>Anything but pity. Anything. </p><p> </p><p>So instead of crying out in pain, screaming and moaning lowly in agony as he did before Geralt seemingly whisked into the room,  Jaskier moves down ever so slightly so that he is lying down on the bed. But, out of nowhere golden eyes are looming over him. Any pretense of hiding concern has been done away with, and Geralt looks the most non-witcher like he ever has since Jaskier has met him.</p><p> </p><p>“Did you hear me Jaskier”</p><p> </p><p>The use of his name instead of the overused( in his opinion) <em>bard, </em>is something that’s like to have Jaskier shivering slightly, even though it is not cold.</p><p> </p><p>Of all the times for Geralt to be kind because that’s honestly the only word that makes sense in this scenario, now is an awful time for it. Jaskier just wants to be magicked into health again, or for the witcher to leave so that he can go back to screaming his throat out and maybe just maybe he can finally proceed to passing the fuck out.  </p><p> </p><p>Scrabbling together an effort, he angles his blue eyes narrowly but not unkindly at Geralt as he presses out through clamped teeth,</p><p> </p><p>“Melitele’s tits Geralt! Of course I heard you. Clearly, I shall be fine. So, please why don’t you go and bring the mage back so that they can.” Jaskier gestures haltingly at his throat. “Fix me”</p><p> </p><p>This outburst seems to have the opposite intended effect though. For some reason Geralt moves closer to him</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>fuck   fuck    fuck</em>
</p><p> </p><p>The look of concern is even more apparent now.  There’s a quick flash of pale hands before Jaskier’s increasingly blurring vision and then there is something moist and cool pressing to his face. Wait, no his face is already wet though? Clumsily bringing a hand up to his face,  Jaskier then understands that there is blood there. Must be from him talking. The coolness is a cloth on his face, as Geralt’s attempts to wipe it away.</p><p> </p><p> Coming down from his little rant, he acutely feels the pain incited by his outburst scratching and tearing its way through his throat. Unbidden, tears smart at the crinkles of Jaskier’s eyes. How badly he wants to turn away? Though he may think of Geralt as a friend, the older man surely does not think of Jaskier as one and the younger man is loath to cry in front of him.</p><p> </p><p>Geralt is still wiping away the remnants of blood on his lips. Jaskier opens his mouth again. Whether or not he is going to tell Geralt to leave again or to go find the mage or whether some other sentence is about to fly out of his mouth, are all thoughts dismissed by the gentled yet rough insistent press of a finger to his lips.</p><p> </p><p>“Do not speak bard.”</p><p> </p><p>Of course the bloody man has that awful sincere look on his face that only happens once in a blue moon, and it <em>always </em>makes the younger man want to melt away.</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier closes the O of his mouth.  </p><p> </p><p>Geralt is almost done now with cleaning away the blood at his lips. When Jaskier thinks he is done the white-haired man gazes at him, an indecipherable expression held there on his face. Hesitantly, he brings the clean edge of the cloth back to Jaskier.</p><p> </p><p>With a gesture that is impossibly soft, he wipes away the silent tears of pain, that apparently despite all of Jaskier’s best wishes have begun to flow quite freely. Jaskier cannot help leaning into the touch, and this time he cannot stop the cries of pain that fall unfettered from his lips.</p><p> </p><p>Here Geralt’s hand pauses in its ministrations. Jaskier finally dares to look up into the other man’s eyes. In less than a whisper he murmurs breathlessly</p><p> </p><p>“I-I-It hurts witcher.” Then weakly he adds with a poor attempt of a brave smile, marred by pain. “It’s my fault, I-It is my fault though.”</p><p> </p><p>Struggling he continues,</p><p> </p><p>“I made the cursed wish. Messed with things beyond my control when I shouldn’t’ve.”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier closes his eyes a a new wave of chilling pain runs through him. It leaves him breathless and wanting to scream. But he can’t scream. Mustn’t. Because the more words that leave his mouth the more blood that will spill from his body.</p><p> </p><p>Geralt’s hand has now moved away from the bard’s face to his shoulder. There his fingers press in an effort of what Jaskier believes is to be comfort to him.</p><p> </p><p>“I know…I know…<em>I know. </em></p><p>Hush man.</p><p>It is no fault of yours.”</p><p> </p><p>With each repetition, Jaskier can tell that the older man is attempting to muster as much soothing calm that he can into it. It is not unlike a mother comforting her child who is in pain. But Jaskier’s pain is sizzling the bard from the inside out, and it isn’t easing as any normal pain might.</p><p> </p><p>Deep inside, Jaskier can feel the magic of the djinn working to bring him to ruin and destruction. Suddenly, there are arms behind Jaskier’s shoulders carefully lifting him…and wait is he in Geralt’s lap? The older man has adjusted him to an angle at where Jaskier is sitting with his legs hanging over Geralt’s,  his head is under Geralt’s chin.  He has slung his arm over Jaskier, and his hand is rubbing Jaskier’s soothingly.</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier suddenly realizes that he has been crying <em>hard </em>from the pain.</p><p> </p><p>Not just hard, but ragged sobs, which in turn have been hurting him more. He cannot even help it though. Geralt holds him through it as words fall out between the tears and the cries of pain.  The witcher’s name is utter gibberish in Jaskier’s mouth and the only words that Jaskier knows for the next long minutes are</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>It hurts, </em>
</p><p>Fuck <em>   fuck</em></p><p> </p><p>And broken versions of the name <em>Geralt</em>, repeated over and over, like some gleaming light that might save him from this dark path.</p><p>Geralt moves his cheek down to the bard’s head and it is a grounding feeling to the other man beneath him writhing in pain</p><p>***</p><p>When Jaskier finally passes out, whether from pain or exhaustion- probably both- Geralt is extremely grateful. He does not know how long it has taken, nor does he care much. That he is finally asleep and appears to be far away from the clawing throes of pain, is something Geralt is world endingly grateful for. The bard’s broken cries and sobs had been enough to make Geralt himself want to cry out.</p><p> </p><p>When it had come to the younger man’s final broken utterances of his own name. That had been the last straw. Apparently this man, Jaskier, has come to mean a lot more to him than he’d  ever have dared to think. Because Jaskier crying his name out while Geralt knew he would be unable to offer any real reprieve, had torn him horribly</p><p> </p><p>Adjusting slightly, the witcher now reaches to dip the cloth in water again. With slow caring movements, he wipes off some of the newly arrived spittle and blood from Jaskier’s fit of pain. Finished, he reaches his other hand up to smooth away the sweaty dark curls clinging to the bard’s forehead. Jaskier shifts slightly but he does not wake. And before he can stop himself Geralt presses his lips to the cool moist skin there. Even though the bard cannot possibly feel it, he lets out a breathy sigh. His nose presses into the cool square of skin on the witcher’s chest  where his face rests, atop the unbuttoned portion of Geralt’s tunic.  </p><p> </p><p>Geralt cards his hand through the bard’s hair for some time. Then sleep claims him too.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks so much for reading. Kudos and comments are always appreciated! 💗</p></blockquote></div></div>
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